


Cintra's Lost Prince

by CoopPenny



Category: Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Birthmarks, Calanthe's POV, Confusion, Episode: s01e04 Of Banquets Bastards and Burials, F/M, Family Reunions, Friendship, Gen, Protective Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Reunions
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-21
Updated: 2020-06-21
Packaged: 2021-03-02 22:08:12
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,140
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24304177
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CoopPenny/pseuds/CoopPenny
Summary: Queen Calanthe hates Elves with every burning essence of her being, and why shouldn’t she? Especially after what they’d done to deserve her wrath…
Relationships: Calanthe Fiona Riannon & Jaskier | Dandelion, Calanthe Fiona Riannon/Eist Tuirseach, Emhyr var Emreis/Pavetta, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia & Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 5
Kudos: 96





	Cintra's Lost Prince

**Author's Note:**

> This is super, super AU. This was honestly a random thought and I wrote it down because I couldn’t sleep… That’s never the best of combinations, is it? XD

The air was filled with electricity and merriment, the laughing flowing as easily as the beer, despite Queen Calanthe’s fierce scowl. God, she hated all this. Like she’d told the Witcher, she would gladly tell the whole bloody lot to jump off a bridge and die, but male tradition demanded it. She could scoff all day at that: ‘male tradition’. What the hell had ‘male tradition’ got any of them? A bigger ego? A false sense of pride? Something that would come as close to a dick-measuring competition as a nobleman could? What a waste of time…

The only thing ‘male tradition’ had done for her was take her son away from her…

She couldn’t believe that it had been nine years since she had lost him, and not even a body to console her shattered heart. She howled mournfully into the night for the loss of her perfect little son who gave his mother hugs and comfort as freely as the words from his mouth, and who sung his little sister back to sleep with relish and eagerness. She howled for so loudly and for so long that her husband, King Roegner, had scornfully told her to shut up. Never before had she wanted the old bastard to die. She remembered her scorn when he died and didn’t shed a tear for the man that used to be her husband. Why should she cry for the murderer of her child, her little Lion Cub?

Her darling son had only died because Roegner had frowned upon their son’s loving heart and his passion for music and poetry. He was unsatisfied with a son that didn’t like to pick up a blade unless he was ordered to, didn’t like a son that cried into his mother’s chest because his father had forced him to kill a baby rabbit on a hunt he’d been forced to go on. And so, as per ‘male tradition’, the King took his son on a long hunting trip in the adjacent kingdom. As a result, Elves attacked and before Calanthe could blink, her son was declared dead while her husband recovered from his wounds…

Looking at Pavetta, Calanthe wondered if her daughter still missed her brother as fiercely as the Queen did. Did she ever stay up, in the middle of the night, trying desperately to recall the little song that her doting big brother used to sing to her every night before bed? Calanthe wondered if her son would be angry with all these pompous dicks as she was, arrogant bastards that wanted to take his sister’s hand for her title more than her heart. She wondered, with a smirk, if he would force them all to cross his sword in order to be in the same room as his darling little sister. Looking at her golden-haired daughter, Calanthe wondered if she’d mourned just as hard as she did three years prior, on Cintra’s late Prince’s would-be fifteenth birthday. Three years prior, Calanthe wondered if her son would have enjoyed his own betrothal banquet, or if he would have been just as mournful as Pavetta clearly was.

Calanthe glared at the posturing men before her eyes strayed to the entertainment for the night. The bard had been highly recommended with unusually high praise for a travelling bard, who’s usual audience was that of drunken paupers in local taverns. Distantly, Calanthe wondered if her son would have insisted that he played at his little sister’s betrothal banquet. Though the bard did look terribly like what her son might have looked if he’d aged past the single digits of nine summers. Lovely brown hair that curled at the tips, deep blue eyes that looked almost grey when he was angry (a very rare occasion) and a wide cheeky smile as he strutted about the floor like he was completely in his element… Calanthe frowned as she narrowed her eyes at the performing bard, what was his name again? For the life of her, she couldn’t remember…

Suddenly, a loud commotion gained her attention, distracting her from the bard as fear and fury mounted in her chest.

Him!

How dare he come here?!

Anger quickly turned to desperation as she stared at the intruder with wide eyes. She tried to get the Witcher to act, tried to convince her that this man, that wanted her perfect daughter, was a monster looking to kill them all.

Battle quickly took place, the Witcher and Eist taking the beast’s side in the name of the Law of Surprise. In the corner of her eye, the Queen was surprised to see that the bard had knocked someone out with his lute as they tried to stab the Witcher in the back, before blending into the background once again.

Unfortunately, while she quite liked battle and blood to relieve her anger, she didn’t want to have to clean the bodies from her halls and shouted for them to stop. At the word of the Queen, the fighting stopped and before anything else could be done, her daughter ran from the tables and into the beasts arms, love in her eyes. Disgust didn’t even begin to cover what she was feeling as she looked at the clear love that was between her daughter and the abomination before her. Betrayal and anger for her daughter crept up on her, but she quickly brushed that aside and aimed those ugly emotions towards the fiend that dared to touch her only remaining child.

“Honour destiny’s wish, or unleash its wrath upon us,” the mage stated gravely like he had the wisdom of a thousand lifetimes and experiences. Which he probably did, but there was one experience that he would forever remain a mystery to him.  
Rage nearly consumed her as she whirled on the man, teeth bared like a feral animal, “There is no us! I bow to no law made by men who never bore a child! What has destiny ever done besides taking what is mine away from me?! If destiny is to take my son to an early grave than I’ll be damned if destiny is to claim my remaining child! Is there not a man amongst you who does not cower before destiny?” she whirled her gaze around all the men of the room, glaring at the silence of the room before her steely gaze landed on the Witcher, a person that destiny was cruellest to, “You, Witcher who has known monsters of every fang and claw, are you afraid too?” she sneered.

All eyes looked to the Witcher and the man sighed, as if the weight of the eyes pained him before he opened his mouth to give to piece, “No. I’ve seen mother’s lash themselves raw over the death of a child, believing they crossed destiny, ignoring the stench of the fifty other children in the plague cart outside. Destiny helps people believe there’s an order to this horse shit. There isn’t.” he admitted in his gravelly tone, looking at the slowly relaxing Queen with all-knowing wolf eyes.

Just as Calanthe thought that the Witcher was finished, his comments firmly in her corner, he carries on, “But a promise made must be honoured. As true for a commoner as it is for a Queen.” he finished and like an axe on the chopping block, Calanthe knew that her options were over.

Staring at the man her daughter wanted, his face distorted by his inhuman features, and she almost felt defeated. But, as she palmed her jewelled dagger that she had once gifted her son, the only thing her late husband brought back of their dead son, she knew that she wasn’t defeated just yet! With a final lunge for the beast’s neck, Calanthe felt like her victory was near, that she would defy destiny, like none before her, were ever able to do. She would save her daughter from the curse of ‘destiny’!

However, her victory was not to be…

Power, of the sort she hadn’t felt since her mother died all those years ago, erupted from her daughter like a dormant volcano. For a moment, Calanthe could do nothing but stare as her daughter created such power, a protective wind swirling around her and her lover as they floated to the ceiling, both happily content in the eye of the storm, while the winds picked up random, dangerous objects that kept everyone back.

All Calanthe could do was watch the enthralling scene, eyes wide with such shock that she couldn’t find it in herself to feel offended when Eist covered her with his own body like she could not handle anything that could be thrown at her. However, as she watched the display of power that was her daughter, the Queen soon found her eyes straying and falling upon the bard as he watched with astonished wide eyes, the wind pressing him against the stone pillar and his arms thrown around a finely dressed woman as she quivered from the power.

Suddenly, the wind stopped and Pavetta and Duny fell to the floor and Calanthe stared at the wreckage that was her courtroom. The silence was deafening as everyone looked at the lovers, who were still clinging to one another, eyes only for one another. Calanthe didn’t comment on the way that they clung to one another harder when she stepped forth, afraid to loose one another to the Queen’s wrath.

“I thought your grandmother’s gift had skipped you as if did me,” she breathed with a solum air of a failed mother, “It seems I was wrong. About so many things…” With a sigh and a clenched fist, Calanthe briefly hung her head, before she held it up high, like the powerful Queen she was, and spoke to the room at large with hard eyes, “Destiny has spoken! And I have listened. The Law of Surprise will be honoured. Pavetta will marry Lord Urcheon!” she announced.

Immediately, murmuring erupted around the crowd, unsure if they should listen to their Queen’s words when she had condemned the man to death just moments before. With a quick glance to the side, Calanthe hid a smirk when she saw that the bard was tensing up once again, narrowed eyes on the murmuring crowd like he was prepared to attack them with his lute.

“React poorly, and you won’t just face the Lioness, you will be facing the sea hounds of Skellige,” Eist announced firmly from Calanthe’s side, staring at the crowd daringly as he slid his hand into Calanthe’s as a united front, Calanthe smirked at the man before she held out her hand for her daughter, and Pavetta did so for Duny. The four of them would be the most fierce family in all of the land.

“There will be two vows here tonight!” the warrior Queen agreed in a tone that broached no room for arguments, “I assume that’s agreeable,” she looked around, resisting a smile when she caught the bard’s large, bright smile, “Delightful.”

With a handful of maids and such, the courtroom was cleared of all things dirty as they lit candles to commence a rushed union with Duny and Pavetta. Calanthe was happy to get it all rushed and out of the way so that no snobby nobles could try and destroy the union of Pavetta and Duny, for their own opportunity to rule over the powerful kingdom of Cintra. She wouldn’t put it past those slimy bastards from Nilfgaard to try something.

“Pavetta. Duny. With my blessing, I thee bind.” the Queen tied the knot, accepting the cursed man into her kingdom and her family.

Suddenly, Duny looked like he was choking, abstract face contorted in pain as he curled in on himself, inhuman noises coming from his withering form - he sounded like he was dying. Before Pavetta to go into a panic, Duny gasped and threw back his head, revealing his perfectly human features of smooth pale skin and loose ringlets of dark hair.

Everyone stared in shock as the young couple kiss, pouring all of their desperation and happiness into one single contact, relief and confusion coming from them in equal measures.

“The twelfth bell has not yet rung,” Pavetta stated in astonishment, rubbing her thumbs rhythmically over her lover’s face.

“What has happened?” Calanthe questioned in confusion, looking between the now-perfectly human young man and her daughter with wide eyes.

As Calanthe stared at the couple, beating away the beginnings of shame for even thinking of cutting down this man that brought Pavetta happiness like no other truly did nor ever would, Mousesack stepped forward, “I think your blessing of this marriage has fulfilled a destiny. The curse has been lifted.”

“Whew,” the bard chuckled, dragging Calanthe’s discreet attention to him as no other commoner would. What was with her obsession with this bard? And why couldn’t she let it go? He seemed to be overwhelmed with emotions, a wide, happy smile on his face as he shared a handkerchief with the woman that had yet to let go of the boy (something which made Calanthe very angry for a moment), “I think this has the makings of my greatest ballet yet!”

Then the Witcher turned to look at the bard, eyes narrowed in a warning and… fondness, if Calanthe were to try and determine the look, “If your alive in the morning,” he half teased with total exasperation, “Don’t…” he looked at the woman hanging off of the bard’s arm, “Grope for trout in any particular rivers until dawn.”

As the Witcher turned to leave, Duny sprung up, gratefulness and hope in his eyes as he looked at the monster hunter, “No, wait! Wait. You saved my life. I must repay you.”

Calanthe drew herself away from the conversation, only half listening as she turned her attentions towards the bard once again without conscious thought. The bard, still, had not noticed her lingering eyes upon him and she continued to stare, uninterrupted. When she looked at the bard, she mostly felt confusion and recognition, but she had never seen him in her courts before and he was far too young to have possibly been a former bed partner… The only thing her mind kept coming back to when she looked at him, was her long-dead son, and how much he looked like how she imagined her son would and that he looked to be about the same age as her son would be if he were alive. Why couldn’t she get that out of her head?

“I claim the tradition as you have, the Law of Surprise,” the White Wolf stated and Calanthe felt like her whole throat had gone dry at what the Witcher had just said, “Give me that which you already have, but do not know.” he shrugged, not caring about the horror that was plastered on every person just there. How could the Witcher be so stupid as to them Destiny in such a way?! After everything that had just happened!

“No!” Calanthe shouted, finally finding her voice as she stared at the mutant with horror, “What have you done, Witcher?”

“Fear not, Your Majesty, if I am seen in your kingdom again, it’ll be to kill a real monster,” he stated in a way that would usually be accompanied with an eye roll, “Not lay claim to a crop or a new pup. Destiny can go fu-“

Suddenly, Pavetta was lurching forward, puke escaping her mouth in such an unexpected rush that it left her breathless and wide-eyed with panic.

Horror crept up the Queen’s spine as she tilted her daughter’s chin up, “Pavetta? Are you…” she trailed off, excitement and rage warring together at the prospect of a baby and being a grandmother and the prospect of having to give Cintra’s royal heir to The Witcher.

The silence continued around the courtroom, all eyes on the Witcher and what his comment would be.

“Fuck,” he swore and then continued to march off, out of the court and, hopefully, out of the kingdom of Cintra forever.

It took a moment for the shock to wear off and turn to righteous anger, but by the time that happened, the Witcher was long gone. Fortunately, the bard that had brought the Witcher upon them was still present, and Calanthe wasted no time in moving herself and the bard into a more private setting to yell at the stupid musician, with the help of the guards.

As she looked down at the terrified figure, she narrowed her dark eyes and hummed, which only served to make the bard more nervous. As she looked at the young man closely, she felt the anger and rage for what the Witcher had done drain away as she found herself asking, “What is your name, bard?”

The man seemed to hesitate, uncertain of why the Queen could possibly want to know the name of a travelling bard? But he answered nonetheless, “Jaskier, Your Highness.”

The woman froze at the name, a run of hope flooding her system that she barely managed to keep from showing on her face. ‘Jaskier’ was a name that Calanthe hadn’t heard in years. While her son’s real name had been Julian, Pavetta had gifted him the name of ‘Jaskier’ when he’d gone on to explain that talented performers and bards changed their names so that they were better remembered and set apart from the crowd. But this could merely be a coincidence…

“You are not one of my citizens,” she stated, tone hard and unforgiving as to keep her straining hope from coming through, “From where do you hale?”

At this, Jul- Jaskier looked a little pained, which he quickly traded for a smile, polite smile, “From no place, Your Majesty,” he admitted, hands twitching as if he desired to hold and pluck the strings of his lute, “If I do hale from a kingdom, I have no memory of the place. I was taken in by a family in a coastal village in Nevigard when I was nine. It’s why I’ve been travelling with Geralt, trying to go to as many places that I can to see if any of my memories come back to me.” he shrugged and his hand rubbed the back of his neck before he caught his fleeting hand and forced it to his side again.

Calanthe remained quiet for a moment, her expression unreadable as she stared at Jaskier, looking into his eyes as if she were searching for something.

“Your Majesty?” Jaskier questioned, wondering if she was one of those people that got really quiet before she exploded in red-faced rage.

“Take off your jacket.” was all she stated.

Understandably, Jaskier was taken aback, letting out a strange-sounding, “What?!” like he’d done earlier in the court when the Lord had ordered him to drop his trousers.

“You heard me,” she gestured at his jacket, “Take it off. Now.”

“But, Your Maj-“

“I said, take it off!” she shouted, desperation and anger coming forth as she stared down the fearful bard. However, her terrifying approach seemed to be effective as the bard was frantically nodding his head, slightly trembling fingers unfastening the buttons of the jacket, revealing a cream undershirt that was low cut in chest and sleeveless.

He held the gold and copper patterned jacket in front of him, as if for some kind of protection against the Queen, but it proved ineffective as she instantly snatched it away and threw it in some random direction in the room, not looking at where it could possibly hand as her dark eyes pinned Jaskier down. Before he could even say anything more, Calanthe snatched the boy’s arm and angled it up, until she found what she was looking for.

For an instant that seemed like an eternity, she stared and stared at the bard’s arm, eyes wide and disbelieving. There, on the back of Jaskier’s arm, just above his elbow (a spot which was not easily seen by the bard himself) was a birthmark in an uncanny shape of a predator’s tooth. Calanthe remembers tracing that very birthmark and telling her dozing son that the birthmark was the shape of a lion’s tooth, proof that he was the Prince of Cintra and the Lioness’ cub.

Breath stuttered back into her lungs and tears sprung to her eyes as she released her son’s arm, taking in all of him for the first time in nine years. He’d grown from the angel-faced cheeky boy to a man that had the same angelic features, the same drive and passion for poetry and music, the same protective instinct that made him jump in a fight to protect his own as he’d done for his Witcher. She took in the light scars on his arms from constantly travelling on the roads and being in close proximity to Witchers and monsters, but as she looked at his left wrist, she choked back a sob when she saw a familiar set of scars - faded with time, but familiar all the same - a set of teeth marks from a stray dog that had tried to attack Pavetta, Julian jumping in the way to take the injury. The Queen remembered when the little scoundrels had gotten back from their escape out of the castle, Julian in near tears from pain as he tried to calm down a sobbing Pavetta, who was sure that Julian was on death’s door.

Unable to hold back any longer, Calanthe let out a wet laugh before she threw herself at her long lost son and clung to him with all her might, burying her long fingers into his soft brown hair that was so much like his grandfather’s as she sobbed her joy and relief into his shoulder. Hesitant hands came to rest on her back, the bard obviously having no idea why Lioness of Cintra was acting this way.

It took a long while before she was able to pull back from her perfect, perfect son, her hand resting on the side of his face as she caressed his high cheekbone with her thumb, right under those deep grey eyes that were a direct match to Pavetta’s. “My son,” she murmured, and she felt it instantly when Julian tensed up with shock, eyes growing impossibly wide, “My Julian, my Lion Cub,” she breathed as she pressed her forehead into his own, revelling in the familiar contact. Her joy sparked brighter when she felt Julian relax slightly, eyes falling shut as he leant into the contact - his body remembering the comfort that came from the hold, while his mind was confused. “You came home to us. After all these years…”

“My Queen-“ Jaskier started, confused as to how the Queen had possibly come to this conclusion. There was no way that he was a Prince! And when they found out that he wasn’t this ‘Prince Julian’, would she chop off his head in anger? Oh, God, please don’t let him die because he was mistaken as a Queen’s deceased son!

Just then, the door to the chambers swung open and the rest of the royal family and Mousesack strode in, only to stop when they saw the screen before them. What they possibly saw was the night’s entertainment, in his undershirt, and the fearsome Queen clinging to him like he was the last lifeline on Earth. However, while everyone else was staring in shock, Calanthe looked positively radiant as she drew away from her new-found son, though she remained close enough to him to brush his arm with her fingers, and smiled at her family.

“Mother,” Pavetta started one of the first to come out of her shock as she stepped towards the pair with uncertainty. She’d only ever see her mother cry once and that was when she was told that Julian died. “What are you doing?”

“Pavetta,” the Queen reached out her hand for her daughter, drawing her closer to the pair when she Princess willingly went to her. She then gestured to the very confused-looking bard, “Does he look familiar to you?”

Dutifully, she looked at the bard, who looked awkwardly back at her and as she stared into his uniquely grey eyes that were so similar to her own, she felt something within her, something that she had come to understand was her magic, that tugged and yearned for him. Within an instant of those odd feelings, Pavetta knew that this young man was her brother. With a gasp, hot tears that came to her eyes, and she threw herself at the bard, who exclaimed in surprise as he was forced to catch her.

“Easy, Your Highness!” Jaskier exclaimed in shock, “What’s-“

Then, just as fast as she threw herself at him, she drew back and cupped his face within both her hands, pressing their foreheads together just like her mother had done moments prior, “I’ve missed you so much, Julian!” she cried, great heaving sobs escaping her as tears ran down her cheeks, but she still managed a smile, “You always did say that you wanted to be the entertainer at my betrothal banquet!” she laughed, completely delighted.

“Your Majesty,” Jaskier started, “My name is not Julian. I am not a Prince and I’m very sorry but I don’t think I’m your brother,” he apologised, sounding like he was physically pained as he forced himself to tell her that he wasn’t her dead brother, “I’m a travelling bard and my name is Jaskier-“

At this, the Princess let out a pure laugh of delight as she hugged him closer, “I gave you that name, Julian -“ and then she seemed to sober up from her joy, “You don’t remember me…” she then turned to her mother, “He doesn’t remember us?”

“I don’t remember anything past the age of nine, milady,” Jaskier answered, “And I’m sorry, but I can’t be your brother.”

“Why are you so adamant to deny this claim?” Eist finally spoke up as he came forward, head tilted in thought, “Many wouldn’t hesitate to try and claim of a spot on Cintra’s royal family. And yet, you do not. Why is that?"

“Because life doesn’t work that way!” Jaskier exclaimed, feeling like his nerves were frazzled, his ribs still hurt from the earlier brawl and he was starting to get a very bad headache, “An orphan child with no memory doesn’t find out he came a Prince and live happily ever after. In reality, the orphan stays and orphan and learns to deal with life. They don’t- You can’t-“ Jaskier cut himself off with a pained groan as his hands went up to the throbbing pain in his temples and his eyes slammed closed against the low light of the room.

“Julian,” he heard the Queen start, a light panic to her voice. He felt hands on his arms, guiding him somewhere before he felt something hit the back of his knees and he suddenly found himself sitting down in the softest chair he’d ever had the pleasure of sitting on. However, he couldn’t fully enjoy it as the pain in his head turned into blinding white agony as he pressed his hands into his head like he was trying to keep his brain together as it fell apart.

“Mousesack!” someone called, too loud, everything was too loud around him.

Suddenly, cool hands were on his own and he opened his eyes slightly to see that it was the old mage that Geralt was friends with, confusion and worry in his wise, brown eyes. However, Jaskier had to close them as he strained against the intense pain in his head.

He felt a hand on his head and then he was being greeted by blessed, painless, darkness, which he welcomed with open arms…

For a moment, Calanthe stood there, speechless and confused as she looked down at her unconscious son, who’s brow was still heavily furrowed with lingering pain. Swiftly, her emotions of shock and worry delved into anger as she whirled on the Mage with dark eyes alight with flame.

“What just happened?” she demanded, absently taking Pavetta’s hand into her own when her daughter drew closer to her on instinct, both of them looking at the Mage with accusing eyes.

The Mage in question, merely sighed as he faced the royal family in full, “There is a blockage in his memory. While it would have faded, easily and painlessly over time, being here and confronted by his past has caused the block to shatter. The force of his suppressed memories are coming back to him too fast and too painfully for him, which is why I put him in temporary stasis.” he explained patiently, “When he awakes, most, if not all, of his memories should be in place.” he explained.

“Where did the blockage come from? Who did this to him?” The Queen demanded, anger and revenge colouring her tone as she stared down at her son, watching him as he breathed deeply and easily, the simple movement telling her that her boy was still alive, that he was there with her. Safe and sound, for the first time in nine years.

“From what I could tell, it was Eleven magic or some kind of attempt at it,” the Mage frowned in thought, “I cannot know for sure, but I do feel that destiny has been afoot tonight, especially with the fact that the Prince came to your court with the Witcher and what happened as a result of his presence.”

“Do not speak of destiny to me,” the Queen snapped at the Mage with her sharp tongue, before she seemed to calm herself down once again, “I feel I have heard of that word too much for one night. Thank you, Mage,” she nodded her head in gratefulness, her eyes never leaving her slumbering son’s form, “You may leave, now.”

Without further prompting, the Mage left the reunited family to themselves, closing the large doors behind him with a heavy sigh. Mousesack stood there for a moment, wondering how the hell he was going to tell Geralt that his travelling partner, that he was more than attached to, was the Lost Prince of Cintra… But that could always wait until the morning…

* * *

Slowly, but surely, Jaskier ever so reluctantly came back to consciousness, the pain in his head still there, but was more of a dull aftershock, than the knee shattering earthquake that it had been. As he came to, he realised that he was on the most comfortable surface that he had ever had the pleasure of laying upon, it was like he was sleeping on a cloud! Then, Jaskier frowned in confusion, as what kind of monster adventure with Geralt left the bard unconscious and on a ridiculously comfortable bed to recuperate on?

“Finally awake, I see?” came the gravelly voice that Jaskier was all too familiar with.

Instantly, his head snapped in the Witcher’s direction, taking in the white wolf who was clad in his full armour, as if he were ready to leave. In his amber eyes, Jaskier could just make out the amusement and distant sadness from the Witcher, which made Jaskier frown all the more.

“Geralt, what-?” he asked, but cut himself off when his memories of the confusing night past through his mind’s eye, and suddenly all those forgotten memories of his childhood, slammed into him like a runaway horse, completely taking his breath away.

He barely registered when his companion urgently stood up from his chair and gently grabbed his bard’s chin to force eye contact, grey eyes staring desperately into bight amber. “Breath, Jaskier,” he softly growled and while the Witcher’s tone would have scared any human shitless, it served to relax Jaskier completely as he breathed deep breaths, that were a bit uneven at first, but soon turned steady and controlled enough for Geralt to step back again.

“Julian,” Jaskier practically gasped out, eyes full of astonishment and wonder, “My real name is Julian…” then he frowned in thought before he looked at his friend, “For some reason, I still prefer ‘Jaskier’. I think it suits me more.” he hummed, smiling widely when he caught the amused twitch in the corner of the Witcher’s mouth.

“Of course you would, bard,” the wolf huffed, and then turned to give his barker a pointed look, “Or should I say ‘Your Highness’?”

Jaskier grinned at his friend outright as he chirped out, “Never,” which made the Witcher huff once again in barely concealed amusement. “But, I guess ‘Your Highness’ does have a certain ring to it…” the bard hummed in jest, and laughed when the wolf rolled his eyes.

“You never told me that you’d lost your memories…” Geralt suddenly spoke up and Jaskier instantly lost all amusement as he looked away shyly.

“I didn’t want you to know,” the younger man sighed, “I don’t know why I guess I just didn’t want you to take pity on me.”

Geralt just hummed as he looked down at Cintra’s Prince, making Jaskier roll his own eyes at such a ‘Geralt reply’.

Suddenly, Jaskier brightened as an idea came to light, “You don’t think it would be too pretentious of me to write a song about myself, do you?” he grinned widely up at his friend.

The only response he got was a deep sigh that Jaskier could loosely translate to ‘of course, he wouldn’t change’.

“I don’t think my mum is going to let me travel around with you, anymore,” Jaskier gave a weak laugh as he fiddled with a loose string on his heavy bed covers, trying to cover up the sadness that he felt at the prospect of no longer being in Geralt’s company, “Especially with the fact that she thought I was dead for nine years after being kidnapped by forest Elves and then had my memories erased… Think I could sneak out?” he questioned as he side-eyed Geralt.

Once again, the Witcher huffed, “I wouldn’t try it…”

“Indeed,” stated a feminine voice in a harsh tone, making Jaskier jump as he whipped his head around to face the sudden intruder. Upon discovering that it was Queen Calanthe, his newly discovered mother, he winced before trying to put on an innocent expression, which she only snorted at, “Please. You grew up a mischievous child and into a mischievous man, your ‘innocent’ expression is wasted on me, Cub.”

“Can I really be called a ‘Cub’ when I’m eighteen?” Jaskier hedged, only to get a deadpanned response from his mother.

“With how trouble follows you around? Yes,” she then looked at the Witcher, contempt and irritation in her gaze as she looked at the blank-faced monster hunter. “I thought you left, Witcher,” she stated with no small amount of scorn.

Just as Geralt was about to stand up and leave, Julian spoke up, eyes hard as he looked at the Queen of Cintra, “Mother, please do not blame Geralt for the situation we now find ourselves in. Not only has he helped the royal family of Cintra, twice, he has also ensured that when Pavetta’s child is born, but he would also protect it in a time of need - Geralt is an honourable man, and when he says he has no means to take our newest cub away, he means it. If anything, all transgressions on Geralt’s part can be linked to me and so I take full responsibility for any misgivings and await your punishment.” he finished with an air of a Prince, that would have impressed Geralt if he didn’t notice the minute shaking in his half-hidden hand and the stench of how terrified he really was.

The Queen stared at her son and then the Witcher for a moment with an unreadable expression before she sighed with defeat and nodded her head, which made Jaskier smile gratefully at her. She then looked at the Witcher with a cold expression, though it wasn’t as malicious as it once was, “Please leave, Witcher. My family is finally united and whole for the first time in years and Julian had much to learn about being a Lion of Cintra."

Geralt grunted and turned to leave the mother and son to themselves and out of Cintra by the end of the day with Roach.

However, he was stopped when Jaskier spoke up, “You’ll come to visit, right?” he questioned, almost begged, “Visit me and the baby?”

As Geralt looked back at Prince Julian of Cintra, he only saw Jaskier, the young bard that was completely unafraid of him and who followed him across half the continent, simultaneously annoying and appealing to the lonesome Witcher. Geralt didn’t see a Prince or any kind of royalty in the former bard, he saw his friend.

“I will,”

And the destiny of Cintra was changed forever…


End file.
